


Meant to Be

by twowritehands



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Fluff, M/M, Making Out in the Bentley (Good Omens), Orgasm Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-13 08:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20579234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twowritehands/pseuds/twowritehands
Summary: "Isn't it worth the risk of one teeny tiny little typhoon?" I ask as sweetly as I can."It could be a volcanic eruption!" Aziraphale shrills. "Or a seismic event! Angels and demons can't just--we can't. We can't. Well, you know. We can't….""Cum," I drawl. "you can say it, angel, it's Biblical."





	Meant to Be

**Author's Note:**

> First ever Good Omens fic!
> 
> Crowley's PoV because it's more of a character study
> 
> I love that there already was a tag for Making Out in the Bentley >:)

If a demon can love--and, excuse me, but this _ is _ love. I know it. Don't forget that I was an angel once, and an angel _ is built _ to love. It may have been a while for me, but trust me, you never forget what love feels like. 

It feels like food poisoning. 

So, anyway, if a demon can love--and I do--then nothing is as it seems, is it? 

Think about it. The Fallen are supposed to be separate from God. Darkness is supposed to be empty. Yet I--Fallen Angel, darkness incarnate, empty hearted foul fiend Antony J Crowley--I love. 

And remember that God is love. So I love and God is love; therefore, I am not apart from God. I, the darkness, am not empty.

So everything everyone thinks is dead wrong. It’s bullocks. It’s complete malarkey. Demons aren't doomed to an eternity of fire. Damnation isn't actually forever. Yeah I know She said it was, but I think She must have reneged on that. Changed her mind. Edited the rules. She can do that. She's God.

I really think she actually did it.

What I'm saying is... a demon can be saved these days.

I think. I think I'm saved. I think I must be saved. I must be, right?

Just look at how Aziraphale looks at me sometimes. Like right now.

Christ, just look at that look.

His eyes are all bright, his smile is just... cheery and sweet. He doesn't see an evil thing when he looks at me. There is no reproach. No disgust. No condescension. I'm just me. And he likes me.

In fact, he often has to remind himself I'm a demon, doesn’t he? What’s that tell ya? 

He knows what I am, yet he continues to open doors for me. To share his fine wine. To let me watch him eat delectable things. 

He lets me drive him places.

He looks at me like I'm worth something. 

Like I'm important.

There's also a glint of bashfulness in his expression. And right now he is mildly fidgeting. Somehow--even though _ glaciers _have literally met up faster than us--he's somehow still nervous when we park my car to neck for the one hundredth time.

Fuck, do I love to neck.

That probably seems weird coming from a demon. We have the reputation that we'd like nothing more than a good hard Fuck, and the more biting the better. Right? Well, sure, if you can get it. Who wouldn't like that?

But there's just something about sliding over the front seat of a vintage car, moving in closer to your very best friend in all of creation, feeling him lean into you. Your mouths coming together. Hands roaming. His mouth glancing down your jaw and going right to that spot on your neck. Holy fuck, that spot. Yes.

I moan like a whore. Because I am one. Proudly.

After a nip and some sucking there for a bit, Aziraphale pulls away with a pop of his lips off the tender skin of my exposed throat. He giggles. A silly fucking sound that goes right to the core of me.

Then he whispers. We're alone in a car in the middle of nowhere. And he whispers like we're misbehaving in the back row of a cinema. His eyes are close to mine and so bright with the thrills of lust that has been surrendered to.

"It can't feel that good, can it?" he whispers. He is honestly asking. He honestly doesn't know. That kills me.

I give him a wicked grin and a sexy look over the tops of my shades. "If you'd let me do it to you, you would trust me when I say it's amazing."

His eyes fall away, his giggle goes nervous. He tucks his chin down a little. "Yes. Well. An angel exposing a jugular to a demon. It--it just isn't done, you see. And you _ literally have fangs, _serpent! I haven't forgotten!" his voice has gone up an octave but he's smiling and he's still up close to me, still holding onto me.

I think he's only pretending not to trust me. I think he's just afraid to feel too much, so he lies.

And he lies so goddamned beautifully, my angel.

I hiss at him sexily, showing the fangs he mentioned and he doesn't so much as flinch away. In fact, he bites his bottom lip, reaches up and removes my shades. I join in on the pointless whispering, promising, "I'll use them gently."

I bump my nose along his jaw. He let's me nuzzle in close. I lightly blow on his throat, right where I'd put my mouth. But he pulls away. "I--I'm just not ready, my love."

Fuuuuck a duck, when he calls me that. I hiss at him again and just for the sake of being contrary, mumble, "Nmmmhmmm, don't call me that. I'm not your anything."

He slides a lily soft finger down my jaw, eyes so full I think I see the horizon of heaven in them. "Oh yes you are."

I slump back, lift my chin up and tug him closer. My jugular is all his. He knows it. He goes back to work putting a mark on my hotspot. I hum in delight. I smooth out his jacket across his shoulder blades and run my fingers through his white hair and let my dick get so hard I can drive nails through Joshua of Nazareth and into the cross.

I giggle at the blasphemous imagery. _ Not _ at the fingers swirling under my shirt, over my ribs up closer and closer and closer toward my taut nipples.

"You know," I pant. (Literally pant, I can come from the feel of his mouth and hands on any part of me). "Bathing suit areas are fair game after the 800th date." I lift my pelvis and wiggle my hips.

"You know what'll happen," he chastises. But his hand closes on my hip to settle me back down. It sends a tidal wave of arousal through me. He rarely touches me below the waist or above the knee.

He has tortured me into loving him. That's what it is. He's a bastard who only thinks about himself, his own virtue, his own comfort zone. He takes and takes and takes and _ takes _.

And I never want him to stop.

"Isn't it worth the risk of one teeny tiny little typhoon?" I ask as sweetly as I can.

"It could be a volcanic eruption!" he shrills. "Or a seismic event! Or even a meteor strike! Yes, it all _ seems _ like it'd be good fun, but I don't make the rules. Angels and demons can't just--we can't. We can't. Well, you know. We can't…."

"Cum," I drawl. "you can say it, angel, it's Biblical."

His blush is literally reflected in the sunset. The sky goes just as pink as he does and exactly the same time as he does. I love it when he blushes across the sky like that. It means I'm making him just as fucking crazy as he's making me.

"We can't _ do that _," he mouths the words as if they are dirty, "at the same time in this corporeal realm without a resulting death toll. Others before us have proven it. There is simply too much displaced energy. It has to go somewhere. And people die. And the angels in question Fall in consequence while the demons are promoted. No, I won't have it."

I tease him in a sexy kind of sing song, "Falling ain't so bad," I slide my hand up his thigh.

"Tempter," he whispers. His eyes are dark with lust. It thrills me. I only get glimpses of the depth of his desire. I hold his hip as he is still holding mine. I want him so bad I think I'll be sick from the sheer pain of it. And just as I angle to press my dick against him, he denies me. 

Oh fuck yes, this--_ This _\--is the sweet spot. He knows what he's doing. The bastard.

"Let's go to another realm," I suggest in my most lover like voice, spoken oh so softly against his ear. 

"We are duty bound to _ this _realm," he reminds me with a frustrating level of calm in his voice. "We can't cross dimensions without having a valid reason. None of the miracles on my docket require inter dimensional travel, and I'm sure none of the tempting in your planner does either."

I pout. "'Nother planet then. We're on our own side now, angel. We can go wherever we want. Like Venus! Let's go to Venus. A methane hurricane or two wouldn't be out of place on Venus. Seismic activity, meteor strikes, she'll take it all in stride. Venus will be a good sport about it. I love Venus."

He beams at me. I've made him breathless. "You are...eager."

I jump my eyebrows. "_ Horny _ is the word you're looking for."

He cracks up, "Horny? Yes. Yes because you're a demon! Haha! I get it! Haha good one!"

Why do I love this... nerd?

It's not just physical. Sure, he plucks the strings of anticipation and orgasm denial better than any being I've ever met. But he's also funny. (Not on purpose, of course. And--yeah--he is often as embarrassing as he is funny so hanging out with him is sort of high risk high reward in that way.)

He's not so righteous that it's boring.

Out of everyone in Heaven and Hell and Earth, he is the only person who knows the real me. My real work. My real interests. My dislikes. My humor. My doubts. My theories about The Plan.

He just. Well, fuck, he just _ gets _ me.

We can, and often have, sat and talked for weeks. Topics vary depending on the mood. We talk about the ineffable plan. The point of rock and roll. How mankind has the habit of organizing its religions while the kicker is that organized religion tends to work against itself. Whether or not disco will ever come back. How in the hell Heaven got Oscar Wilde when he was clearly supposed to be one of ours. Why the ingredients of Coke changed in the late 80s and not a single angel or demon in creation bothered to miracle it back to the way it was, or maybe some of us tried but it didn't work which begs the question, is New Coke part of the ineffable plan?

"There," Aziraphale says, popping off with a note of finality. "Properly marked now." I can tell by the way his eyes linger on that spot that it's a nice, dark hickey. He likes them dark. 

Then his eyes bounce up and he's all bright and innocent again. The bastard. "Can we go?"

Ohhoho the bastard!

I chuckle, it's a dark sound like a veiled threat. "I'm not finished with you yet."

We kiss. His lips are kiss swollen. Our mouths are stale. I reach for his crotch. He bats my hand away and retreats.

"No means no, Crowley." he says primly. I sigh and slide back behind the wheel. Parting from him feels strange, but it's also something of a relief. 

"Someday, we will," I say. I don't say _ make love. _ Blehg. My mouth is stale enough. But I think he knows the words are there in my throat.

"Feeling confident in our tempting skills are we?"

"It's not about temptation," I murmur. I'm doing it, I'm revealing a slither of my latest theory about The Ineffable Plan. "It's about surrender."

He gives a gentlemanly huff. "Surrender comes hand in hand with temptation, Crowley."

I frown. "Not exclusively. One might…" I shift, uncomfortable, and cough to clear a throat that doesn't need clearing. "One might surrender to… the will of God."

Since fills my car as I drive down the dark highway.

"The will of God," he repeats, softly. "Do you really think it could be? An angel...a-and a demon?"

I've never said it out loud, but if I'm going to say it to anyone, it's going to be him. "What if the ineffable part of the plan involves… saving...the fallen? Rather than just slaughtering us?"

Aziraphale blinks at me in stunned silence.

"It'd make sense wouldn't it?" I continue, "Why two Not-all-that-important beings like us were able to thwart," I let go of the wheel and fan my fingers out, "_ The Apocalypse _. It was allowed to happen because we did it to… you know…" I say it fast, "tosaveeachother." 

I glance at him nervously, see that he's looking dead at me and I quickly look back at the road ahead. "Which is in itself an act of selfless--you know--selfless… Let's call it _ feeling _ ." I won't say Love out loud. Just like he won't let us properly fuck in this dimension. "And so maybe we feel this feeling for a reason. Maybe we acted on the _ right _impulse. Maybe we followed exactly to where we were led. It was... Meant to be."

A hand on my knee makes me instantly feel far less silly for saying it out loud. Aziraphale is closer than he usually rides when the car is in motion. "That's a lovely, lovely thought, Crowley."

I scoff.

He brushes my hair over my ear and then caresses the snake coiled in my sideburn. "I love you, too."

I cough again, and press harder on the gas pedal. The car flies.

Yep. Just like food poisoning.


End file.
